Twist of Fate
by KHwhitelion
Summary: He wasn't always number X. Once upon a time, he was a sophisticated man: a GAMBLING man. He'd had all of England on his toes. The story of Luxord's Other, Rould. Done in drabble form, in no particular order.
1. Special delivery

Silence. Dead silence. The only sound was the steady motion of his boots making contact against the glossy marble floor, and the occasional swishing of his cloak around his knees. _Any moment now,_ he kept thinking, _I'll find it_. He looked down at his feet, as if they held the answer for him. However, he needn't have bothered; it was too dark to see anything. He drew in a breath, the vast amount of darkness making him uneasy. He didn't want to be here, even though he knew he had no choice. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but, as a wanted man, the only other option was to turn himself in. And he wasn't at all sure the _others_ would approve of that. His fingers closed around the parcel in his left hand. His line of work certainly involved a lot of risks.

After wondering aimlessly around for sometime, he stopped, and tapped the floor with one foot. One-two….three taps. All in rapid succession of each other. He waited then, pulling his cloak closer to his body. He hadn't made a mistake, had he? The boss, _his_ boss, had arranged for his arrival, hadn't he? His brow suddenly furrowed beneath the hood masking his face. _Stop calling him that_, he told himself, shaking his head slightly, _you know he wouldn't like it_. And that was the truth. The one he and the others called 'boss' was merely a well-acclaimed associate in their business. Why and how he got the nickname 'boss' was a mystery, even to the boss himself. It was just one of those things, and everyone had decided to accept that. 

He was suddenly roused from his train of thought as a faint but definite reply came from below his feet. One-two-three-four….five and six. He then stepped aside, well aware of what was to take place next. A low rumbling sound erupted from the ground, which gradually grew in volume, sounding closer and closer to him. Then, almost as soon as it had started, the rumbling ceased, but in it's place came a sharp creaking. His teeth clenched under his hood. No matter how many times he visited, he had never quite gotten used to that sound. However, he _was _grateful it was at least very brief, and, after waiting for the noise to subside, he walked casually towards what was now an opening in the floor. He hadn't fallen through because, thankfully, the passage was lit with a very dim, pale light, just enough that one could see from close up, but not enough to reveal its location to the enemy. He smiled despite himself, placing his foot on the first leading step, as he prepared for his conference with 'the boss.'

"Ah. Xander. It's about time you showed up."

Face still concealed, he grinned. There was no mistaking that voice. "Sorry," he replied, leaving his position on the final step and moving towards the man in front of him. He was in a large circular room, with a very messily painted sky on the ceiling. The whole room was messy, it seemed. Papers that were scrapped had been tossed needlessly around the room, the occasional one landing in the waste basket. Only the desk where _he _was sitting at hadn't a piece of paper on it, but instead was inhabited by endless stacks of illegal trinkets, and of course, his feet. Xander sighed. "You do realize that desk was just cleaned a week ago." He said flatly, removing his hood as he continued to walk foreword. 

The other man smiled, shifting his position "and do _you _realize how many times I've told you to do something about your face?"

Xander shot him a look. "These scars are permanent. No amount of healing ointment could fix them." He sighed, throwing back a lock of thick black hair that had come loose from his ponytail. His roomie said nothing, but merely steepled his fingers, something he had recently taken up whenever he was plotting. Xander flashed him another look, then began picking up the pigstye of what the other man called "my office." 

After about five minutes or so had gone by, the scheming man spoke. "So….do you have it?"

Xander's expression immediately hardened as he answered "Of course." Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a poorly wrapped package, and tossed it to the man sitting at the desk. Despite all the trouble he had gone through to get it, a sense of pride and accomplishment now swelled in his chest. He grinned, breaking his previous seriousness and crossing his arms. "I take it everything is to your liking, boss?" He asked, then stopped, catching his mistake an instant to late. The other man frowned as he hastily began tearing through the package.

"I told you never to call me that. I'm not your boss, for the last time."

"Yes of course sir," he said swiftly, bowing in apology. Not for long, though, for the _clink_ of metal against polished wood caught his attention, and he instantly looked up. His amber eyes lit up as he gazed at the extensive amounts of euros now toppling from the parcel remains and onto the boss' desk. Even though he had been perfectly aware of the package's contents when he had delivered it, the sight of the little golden coins hitting the surface still mystified him. He chuckled. The boss looked up at him.

"What, may I ask, do you find so amusing?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just…." He paused, still gazing at the money, "It's been a long time since I've seen cold, hard cash."

The boss smiled then, reaching up to stroke his white-blond beard with a gloved hand. "Yes, yes it certainly has." He brought his hand down again and continued, "With the recent crisis taking place amongst our other associates, I've been finding myself quite broke recently."

"Nice to be on the receiving end for once, isn't it, _Rould_?" Xander replied, cracking a grin at the man sitting behind the desk. He returned it with a smirk of his own.

"So I see you remember my name then?" He replied approvingly, "It's about time one of you thugs decided to use it."


	2. One last request

His heart pounded in his chest, ringing in his ears as he darted frantically down the musty corridor, each slosh of his boot against the sodden surface echoing off the walls lined in shadow. Breath was coming on him hard, each gulp of air sawing at his lungs. But he refused to slow down- he couldn't. Too much had been sacrificed already. _Can't_…._give_…._up_…. he kept telling himself, in between effortless gulps of air, _gotta_…._keep_…._going_…. 

A stabbing pain surged through his left shoulder, and he glanced down at it with fearful eyes. It was getting worse, he realized. The thick red blood coating his appendage was beginning to seep down the rest of his arm, its gooey substance rather disturbing against his already tainted flesh. He gritted his teeth as he felt sweat trickle down his forehead, each droplet stinging as it rolled down his face. His eyes started to burn and his vision began to blur, and he leaned up against the grimy walls, cursing violently. He was running out of time. 

As he stood there, alone in the darkness, he realized just how badly he wanted to give up, to return home, to forget. Forget everything. Thinking about it now, he began to become aware just how badly he was hurting. He groaned, and lifted his good arm up to his face, placing its hand over his forehead. His temperature had risen a great deal since he had taken off, and a feeling of lightheadedness and disorientation swept over him. Gradually, as he slumped against the wall, his legs, bruised and aching, gave out, and he slid down the slimy surface, folding over when his broken form made contact with the surface beneath.

_Can't_…._give_…._up_…._gotta_…._keep_…._going_….A voice in his mind seemed to pester, echoing throughout his skull. He hung his head, shutting his eyes tightly as his right arm slammed angrily against the grimy floor. Who was he fooling? He didn't even have the strength to stand. 

"B-Boss," he croaked, feeling his eyes water, "why…._why_….?" A salty tear slid down his scarred cheek, and his body began to tremble, "why did you leave it all up to me!" 

He punched the ground a second time, losing control as he began to cry, harsh sobs causing his body to shake violently.

"…_.You're a good kid, Xander….Don't ever let the others tell you differently. I can see you going places in life, boy. Sure, things may seem tough now, but you'll make it through. Trust me. Your heart's in the right place…."_

"B-Boss-s…." He muttered shakily, shaking his ragged black hair, "if only I-I could believe that…."

"…_.I'm not your boss, for the last time…."_

'Boss.' 'Rould.' What difference did it make? Whichever name he was, the man was gone. Xander had seen him die with his own eyes. _But,_ the same nagging voice kept asking, _was it _really _death?_ _All those….those creatures. When they sucked the man into darkness, had they really done away with him?_ _Was that their _true_ intention?_

"Oh, what difference does it make!" Xander suddenly screamed, his amber eyes bolting open, "He's still gone, isn't he! He still left everything to me!"

"_Listen to me. Our association, money, prized possessions: none of that matters anymore! You hear me! The only thing worth protecting to me, is this country and the people who inhabit it! I can't warn them, Xander. No, it's too late for me. But you….you. You still have a chance. _England _still has a chance. Please, as a partner; friend- forget about me! If these….heartless monsters reach the country, who knows what will happen! _You've _got to warn them, boy. You're the last hope they've got…."_

"…_.the last hope they've got…."_

Xander's eyes widened, newfound strength burning in each pupil. Brushing the tears away, he sprang to his feet, ignoring the pain in his arm. Boss….Rould was right. And Xander knew it, too, no matter how many excuses he made. There was no way out of this. 

Gritting his teeth, he sighed, clutching his wounded shoulder. He had been through so much already….how much more could he take before his strength finally gave out? His eyes darted for a moment to the blood trickling down his appendage, and a feeling of understanding and determination came over him, as a dark smirk formed on his lips. 

"I suppose it doesn't matter, what happens." He reasoned with himself, ears picking up the familiar sloshing of boots, "There's nothing here for me anymore. Even if they find me…." His eyes narrowed and he laughed. "_If _they find me." Dropping his right arm, Xander turned, kicking off on his heel as he darted forward._ I can't give up, _he thought, as he continued down the corridor, _I've gotta keep going_.


End file.
